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...

Ella woke up around five in the morning with the distinct feeling that something was wrong. The NyQuil hadn't been slept off yet, so she was still a bit drowsy, but she climbed out of bed and pulled on her Converse. Stumbling across the dim room, she pulled her door open and slipped into the hallway. Everything was quiet and still.

"That's what's wrong," she whispered. "Bruce hasn't come home."

She wasn't sure how she knew it, but a quick check inside Bruce's bedroom confirmed his bed was still made and unoccupied. Ella hurried downstairs and straight to the music room, sliding to a stop by the beautiful old piano.

"Oh, shoot," she whispered. "I have no idea what to play." She pressed a few keys, and nothing happened, so she decided to approach the problem scientifically. "Alright, so is it the specific melody that is opening the door?" She leaned in close to the keys and looked hard at them. "Bingo," she whispered. Several of the keys near the top of the piano were shinier and a different texture from the rest.

Ella tried every pattern she could think of, but still, the panel remained shut. The piano was not working and she needed another way. It occurred to her that she had not checked to see if Alfred was still in bed, so it was back towards the east wing, and down the servants' quarters hallway, she ran. Ella was almost to the butler's bedroom when a loud yelp echoed through the halls, originating somewhere behind her. Ella froze and spun around, facing the way she had just come from.

"Bruce," she whispered.

…

"You will hold still this instant, young man, or so help me, I will tie you to this chair!" Alfred angrily set his needle and thread down on the table and turned Bruce to a better spot under the light.

"Hurts," mumbled Bruce, his head resting in his hands and shoulders heaving heavily.

"It doesn't bloody surprise me," snapped Alfred.

"Why are you acting so upset?" asked Bruce. "It's not like I did this on purpose. And besides, you've stitched me up dozens of times."

"I'm bloody upset because you didn't bloody kill him when you had the chance," responded Alfred, picking his needle back up and placing a steadying hand on Bruce's left shoulder. "Hold still."

Bruce let out another yell when the needle pierced his skin but managed to hold still while Alfred stitched closed the large gash on his right shoulder.

"More tender than usual?" asked Alfred. "You normally don't yell so much."

"Ah, Alfred," whispered Bruce, a sob catching in his throat.

The elderly man finished his work and sighed, "Why so much worse, this time?"

Bruce, head still in his hands, sighed deeply, "I don't know. I had so little control. I couldn't focus. He mopped the floor with me, Alfred. A single man with a knife and I couldn't win."

"Bruce!"

Alfred looked up and found himself looking at the silhouette of a girl in the dining room doorway.

"You should still be in bed, miss," said Alfred, gently dabbing at Bruce's cuts with a wet cloth.

"What happened?" cried Ella, hurrying across the room.

"Do you always wear the same clothes two days in a row?" asked Bruce, his head rising just slightly to take note of Ella's black joggers and a blue t-shirt.

"I didn't put on pajamas last night," replied Ella, stopping beside Alfred. "Holy Toledo, Bruce. That looks terrible." She felt her stomach turn slightly at the sight of the bloody cut stitched together on the man's shoulder. "How did it happen? Why were you out so late? Did you have a battle?"

"A battle?" asked Bruce, wincing as Alfred cleaned his back. "I've never heard it put that way. I guess you could say that."

"With who?" asked Ella, swinging around in front of Bruce and dropped to her knees. She put her hands on his knees and tried to see his face underneath his hands.

"Someone stronger," mumbled Bruce. "Go back to bed, please."

"Ain't tired," said Ella.

"From talking like a college professor to 'ain't tired,'" said Alfred, his voice sharp. "Now you obey Master Bruce and go back to bed. No one said you had to sleep."

"So I just have to sit in my bed awake and thinking about what terrible things have happened?" whined Ella, standing up and putting her hands on her hips. She glared at Bruce, upset that he was refusing to tell her what happened, but mostly scared because she couldn't do anything to help it.

"Yes," replied Alfred. "I promise I will be up soon. But please do as you're told for right now."

Ella took a step back and suddenly felt somewhat overwhelmed. She had never seen Bruce look so defeated. His elbows were resting on his knees while his hands cradled his dark head, hair tussled and wet from sweat. His torso was bare, and she could see bruises covering every inch of his sides. A long scratch ran from his neck down to his chest, and blood had run down and dried beneath it. The athletic shorts that he wore under his suit were ripped, and it occurred to Ella that must mean his suit had taken a battering. The idea occurred to her that easily could have lost Bruce tonight, and be alone again. Yes, there was Alfred, but legally she was Bruce's ward. Would the state even let Alfred continue to care for her if something happened to Bruce? The thought almost took her breath away and she staggered backward, using the chair beside her for support.

Bruce never looked up, and Alfred was so engrossed in caring for his young master that neither man noticed as Ella quietly slipped from the room and ran upstairs as fast as she could. She hurried into her room and locked the door before going directly to her bed and burying her face in the blankets. Sobs overtook her, and Ella cried harder than she had in a very long time. In fact, she couldn't even remember a single time tears had found her since her parents passed away.

Her parents.

She would probably never have parents again, and now the man that had come closest to filling that title was risking his life regularly. It wasn't exactly what the state would call a stable environment.

All the old heartache came rushing back, and it wasn't until thirty minutes later when a soft knock sounded at the door that Ella raised herself from the bed. She slowly crossed the room and unlocked the knob before rushing straight back and burying herself in the blankets again.

The door softly opened, and Ella sensed someone settle onto the bed beside her. A gentle hand rested on her shoulder and a deep sigh filled the room. "Now what are these tears, love?" came Alfred's soft voice. "Master Wayne will be fine. Just a little scare tonight is all. Nothing to cry over, my dear. He's sound asleep in his room now and will be back to normal after a good rest."

"Why does everyone die?" cried Ella, her voice muffled by her heavy blankets.

Alfred didn't respond for a moment, slightly caught off guard by a question other than "who did this to Bruce" or "is Bruce going to be okay." He shifted slightly and began to rub the girl's back, "Well, dear, everyone dies. It's a part of life. You can't have one without the other. Master Wayne dons the suit so that more people have a chance at surviving, and he does a wonderful job of protecting Gotham's citizens. Sometimes he meets people who are just a little stronger than he is, and it takes a few tries to get the better of them. But don't you worry, because he always prevails. That's why everyone looks up to the Batman."

"Not Bruce," said Ella, still face down.

Alfred raised an eyebrow, "Are we talking about your parents?"

Ella nodded.

Alfred sighed again. He had been sighing a lot this morning. "Are you finally going to tell me what happened to them?" he asked. It was a sore subject. Ella had refused to give much information on her parents, and Bruce and Alfred didn't push for any. Personal research had told them that Mario and Capria Ferrera were killed in a trapeze accident while performing for the Gotham City Circus seven years ago. Ella had been only six-years-old at the time, and the circus immediately turned her over to the foster care system. Ever since, the girl had been passed around, often ending up in terrible homes that the caseworkers had done nothing to review before accepting it into the foster care program. Through Bruce's influence, the system had been solidified firmly over the past two years, but it didn't take away from the horrible things Ella had gone through. Bruce had tracked down every last home she had been in, and it felt like a knife through his heart as he found crime reports and jail records on almost every foster parent.

Bruce and Alfred never told Ella that they knew about her past, but they hoped that one day she would feel comfortable enough to share it with them herself. Alfred was reasonably sure that was about to happen.

"Alfred, I miss them," whispered Ella. She slowly sat up and turned to face the kind butler.

Alfred smiled and brushed the girl's messy curls from her face, letting his hand rest on her cheek. "I'm sure you do, my dear," he nodded. "Perhaps talking about it will help."

Ella bit her lip and felt her chest clench. She hated this story. Even thinking about it made every inch of her fill with grief, and the last thing she wanted to do was share it with Alfred, but he was right. It would feel wonderful to finally get it off her chest after seven years, and if anyone deserved to know the truth, it was Bruce and Alfred.

"Okay," she whispered. "But can I tell you at the same time?"

"You mean Bruce and me together?" asked Alfred. "Of course, love." He pulled the girl into his arms and held her close as her breathing regulated and her heartrate slowly went back to normal. "But for now, I think we all need a little rest."

...

This chapter was a bit shorter than usual, but I didn't want to get into backstory quite yet. The next chapter will be a lot of that. Thanks for reading! You are all amazing!